


Shackled Hearts

by Nicole Premier (MistressArachnia)



Category: Togainu no Chi
Genre: AU, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Blood, Choking, Cursed Akira, Drama, Gothic Victorian Setting, Guns, Hypnotism, Illustrated, Incubus Nano, M/M, Mystery, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Power Bottom, Power Play, Priest Motomi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, S&M, Smut, Uke Nano, polyship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressArachnia/pseuds/Nicole%20Premier
Summary: Motomi always knew that one day the devil would come for him. He just… never imagined it would be quite this literal. Akira’s unexpected involvement complicated the priest’s affairs considerably.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coarsesalt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coarsesalt/gifts).



> Here’s my gift for the Nitro+CHiRAL Exchange Project for the lovely and talented CourseSalt, aka PatchesNitroChiral! <3 (Check out her artwork on Tumblr!) For the exchange, she wanted something rough and adventurous. I knew that she liked incubus AUs, power bottoms, polyships, and was particularly fond of the ossans... so here’s incubus!Nano corrupting priest!Motomi… with poor unsuspecting Akira somehow caught in the middle of this madness.
> 
> This is the first time I’ve attempted to write an AU, and I usually write from Nano’s POV, so this fic was an interesting challenge to write. The AU setting is fantasy gothic victorian, which I felt suited the priest/incubus set-up. (And also gives the characters an excuse to wear some cute costumes.)
> 
> I swore I’d never publish another multichapter fic before it was completely finished... but due to other participants dropping and my being reassigned midway through, I only had a couple of weeks to pull this together, so I hope you enjoy the first two chapters. <3
> 
> CourseSalt also did some beautiful artwork for this story! <3

He always knew that one day the devil would come for him.

Motomi stared up at the crucifix above the altar offering up a silent prayer. For ten long years, he had been waiting for this night. Scheming. Preparing. He had tracked the demon all the way to this forgotten ghosttown of a city on the outskirts of the woods, and now… it was only a matter of time.

Never once in the ten years since Motomi had joined the priesthood had he ever so much as caught a glimpse of the demon he he had dedicated his life to hunting. Some days he thought it was all for nothing. He was chasing a ghost.

But he knew the devil was there. The whisper of the wind through the blackened branches in the dead forest that surrounded these walls foretold his coming. The unnatural flicker of half-melted candles circling the crucifix. The darkness spilling down the walls to come crawling towards the altar. The hiss of the little black kitten that wandered idly into this moonlit sanctuary, only to disappear again into the gloomy shadows.

But the most telling sign… was the exposed flesh of the young man sleeping peacefully atop his altar.

Motomi covered his mouth in silent horror, sinking down into a wooden bench. He stared, hands shaking as he reached tentatively for the case of cigarettes that he kept hidden in an upper pocket sewn into his black robes. Smoking was one of the few earthly pleasures he was still permitted.

And _damn it all_ , but he needed it now.

Motomi closed his eyes, offering up a silent prayer. Dear God, please let this be a hallucination. Or a nightmare. Anything, _anything_ , so long as he could wake from it in the morning.

But try as he might, the priest already knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night, nor for many nights to come. He would lie awake listening to the ticking of the old clock in the priory, trying desperately to pass the time until the morning light when he could _forget_ , convince himself that what he was seeing now was nothing more than a play of the light come to haunt him from the dark dripping walls of his memories…

Motomi fumbled as he tried (and subsequently failed) to light a match. The anguished sigh that escaped his lips was drenched with despair.

Why… why did things have to be this way? It felt like God was mocking him. His goal was simple enough. It was all so easy, so painless in the black and white images behind his closed eyelids.

But there was nothing easy about _this_ :

In order to complete the mission he had so dedicated himself to these past ten years… Motomi would have to have to kill this boy.

Not a hideous monster. Not a cursed demon. A sweet, innocent young man. Someone as mortal as himself. A wounded soul who had come crying to him for help. Someone who trusted him implicitly, and who he knew had no one else in the world.

And someone whom he had grown increasingly fond of over these past few weeks.

Motomi struck another match, and this time the flame sprung to life in his shaking fingertips, illuminating his face in a soft orange light as he lit his cigarette and brought it to his lips.

Was there no other choice? He felt like Abraham, ordered by God to sacrifice and burn his only beloved son Isaac as a cruel test of faith. To be completely honest, that story always made him angry. What kind of a deity could call themselves ‘benevolent’ after demanding such a sacrifice? Worse than that, what kind of father would even _consider_ obliging such a barbaric request? Thankfully, in the story, just before the sacrificial knife pierced his heart, Isaac had been spared.

But at the final moment, when he cocked the trigger and aimed the barrel at the altar where his unsuspecting target lay, who would come to stay his hand?

No one. Motomi was neither egotistical nor delusional enough to think that God had a vested interest in either his or Akira’s personal salvation. In all likelihood, few would even notice this boy’s passing. The world would go on just as before without missing a beat. And knowing that just made this harder.

Akira stirred lightly in his sleep, shivering in the cool midnight air.

Motomi closed his eyes, raising his hand to his temples. He should do it fast. Quick. Painless. The boy would simply have gone to sleep… never to wake again. It was a better death than most. Certainly better than his son’s had been. He could bury him in the graveyard outside by the light of the full moon without anyone from the parish noticing. People in this town went missing all the time.

The hole had already been dug, the silver bullets blessed, the pistol loaded.

But still Motomi sat paralyzed, hands shaking, unable to so much as graze a finger across that bloody trigger. God help him, but the way Akira had settled so peacefully against his chest the moment his eyes closed reminded him so much of his own child: his son whom he had also failed to protect… and who now lay buried beneath the earth. Akira was about the same age as he would have been.

Motomi brought the much-needed cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply.

Of all the bloody things he could be thinking at a time like this, some voice in the back of his mind was still concerned that the boy was cold. The priest desperately wanted to go to the back room to fetch him another blanket to help ease his shivering.

He did not want the old quilt he had wrapped around his trembling shoulders as he fell asleep in his arms to become his burial shroud.

Hell, the _last_ thing he wanted was to bury another child. He couldn’t believe he was even _considering_ actually going through with this nightmare of an ordeal.

The clock continued to tick. Every minute felt like an hour.

In the bright light of the full moon, the priest could clearly see that Akira’s flushed cheeks were still moist with tears.

Stoic Akira. Akira who had just had his first taste of bitter regret. Akira who had just lost the only person in his life who he had ever cared about.

Akira, whom he had fully expected to push him away, had instead leaned into his embrace. Motomi had promised him earlier that very same evening that he would help him live through this horror of an ordeal. He offered him sanctuary and a shoulder to cry on, held him in his arms like a child until he finally fell asleep.

He had tried his best to assure him that his soul was not damned, and that no matter how bad things looked, he would get through this.

But…

…He lied.

God help them all.

* * *

After officiating a particularly stressful wedding ceremony, the priest had dozed off in his quarters. The whole day had been one giant headache. The bride’s family hated the groom, the groom’s family hated the bride, and between all of them six people had tried to object to their union. The couple, however, had ignored them all, and as a testament to their love and determination (or perhaps naive stupidity), had gone on with the ceremony regardless. He wasn’t entirely certain why they didn’t just elope in the first place.

Ah, the follies of young love.

Just as he was finally drifting off, the priest was awakened from his evening nap by the sounds of desperate banging on the church doors.

Motomi drug himself out of bed, still half asleep and yawning. When he opened the doors, Akira was standing outside the church in the rain, wide-eyed and frightened. His already fair skin had gone so pale that he looked as though he had seen a ghost.

Motomi closed his eyes, pressing one hand to his temples. He had a bad feeling that he knew what he was going to say before the words passed Akira’s lips. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach as the boy confirmed his worst fears.

“…It’s Keisuke. I finally found him.”

The sleepiness that had until then been drifting idly through his body evaporated in an instant. Motomi didn’t waste any time, stepping aside to let the young man pass.

“Alright… Come inside.”

Akira hurried past him into the warmth of the inner sanctum, taking off his flat cap and knotting it between his fingers. Water from his soaked clothes dripped noisily onto the hardwood floor, echoing in the empty hall. He was shivering violently, and not just from the cold. It was clear that he was terrified.

“Okay, sit down and tell me what happened.”

Was he crying, or was it just the rain? Akira opened his mouth, then quickly closed it again. He turned his head, clutching his arms to his chest and avoiding Motomi’s gaze.

After a few moments of awkward silence, it was clear that the kid was going to need some more prompting if he wanted to get him to actually use his vocal chords.

“Oi. You came all the way here, so _something_ must have happened that’s eating you up. It’s a lot easier to deal with when you just say what’s on your mind.”

A small puddle was beginning to form beneath Akira’s feet. Motomi was about to plop down on a bench to wait out the boy’s stubbornness until he found his tongue, when he noticed discolored blotches forming on Akira’s shirt.

Dear God, the frightened boy wasn’t just crossing his arms out of some juvenile attempt to shut him out, he was clutching his side in pain… and the dark fluid that oozed across his trembling fingers was definitely not water.

Akira continued to shiver, still refusing to look Motomi in the eye. Damn it… where the hell were the bandages…

“I found Keisuke, but he’s… not himself.”

“Hmm… How did you get that injury you’re hiding?”

Motomi reached out to touch him, but Akira backed away like a wounded animal, glaring up at him as though angry that Motomi had noticed. Sighing, the priest reached out for the skittish boy’s shoulders, pushing him gently but firmly down onto a nearby pew.

“Let go of me!”

Even as frightened as he was, Akira’s protest was empty. Judging by the look on his face, there was no fight left in him. It was clear that he needed help and had no idea where to turn, much less how to ask for it.

Motomi knelt in front of Akira, lifting the hem of his old linen shirt. Despite his frightened breathing, Akira didn’t protest. As the priest suspected, it was a bloody mess underneath. Thankfully, it wasn’t quite as bad as it _could_ have been. He wasn’t likely to bleed out in the next few minutes. But he would still have to get the boy cleaned and bandaged up quickly before infection set in.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” Motomi held up both hands, trying to show that he meant no harm. “Tell me how you got this. Did Keisuke do it to you?”

As soon as he suggested it, Akira ceased his squirming and froze on the spot, his blue eyes going wide with alarm, apparently shocked that the priest had been able to guess so easily.

Motomi wished he could be as surprised about this unfortunate turn of events as Akira was. Alas, he had a sinking feeling that he already knew more or less what had happened between them. Even worse, he already knew what was going to happen next. He had seen it too many times before, and it never ended well for anyone.

Finally Akira spoke, his voice uncharacteristically timid, tentatively moving aside his hands to allow Motomi to peel back his stained shirt to expose his wound.

“…Yes. He did.”

“I thought so.”

Keisuke and Akira were both fairly new to town and worked long hours at a local textile factory. Motomi wasn’t entirely certain where the two of them had come from or what their backstory was, but he knew that they had both arrived together.

Just two young souls seeking a better life, or so he had assumed. Friends, for sure. Lovers, perhaps. Or maybe two friends who might soon become lovers. At any rate, the two seemed close, and he’d grown rather fond of seeing them together.

Though… if he was completely honest with himself, it always stung a little seeing two people getting on so well. But it was a bittersweet kind of pain. It was simply a reflection of the choice he had made. So when the priest lay awake night after night, alone, crushed with loneliness and regret with only shadows of distant memories to haunt him, he knew he had no one but himself to blame. That kind of happiness had now been closed off from him forever.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened between you two?”

“……”

Akira kept his gaze fixed silently downwards, as though studying some incredibly fascinating knot in the old floorboards. He looked so lost, Motomi wished he could just take him into his arms and hug him. One of the most awful parts about his job was watching so many people’s seemingly peaceful lives shatter. From an outsider’s perspective, it was obvious to anyone who looked that Keisuke adored Akira. Everyone, it seemed, except Akira himself. And this little incident… certainly wasn’t going to help matters.

“…I’ll tell you what. You think about it while I go fetch some bandages.”

To tell the truth, it was fairly normal for two men living together not to want to talk about their relationship with anyone outside it… least of all a priest who would surely condemn them for it on principle. But despite the church’s official position on the matter, Motomi didn’t share their philosophy. As far as he was concerned, love was love. Souls were attracted to one another regardless of gender, and two people united in mutual affection for one another was always a beautiful thing.

…At least, it was until one of them stabbed the other. The wounds left on Akira’s heart would linger on long after the wounds on his body had healed.

Motomi disappeared behind a doorway, silently cursing the disheveled state that the room had been left in. But of course, he had no one to blame but himself for that, either. Alas, finding _anything_ in this mess wasn’t going to be easy.

As he searched, he tried to put the pieces together in his mind. The priest knew a little about Keisuke and Akira’s problems already. Several nights ago, Keisuke had gone missing. Motomi only found out about his disappearance when Akira showed up at his doorstep asking sheepishly if the priest had perhaps seen him. He wouldn’t look him in the eye then, either. He seemed ashamed of something. It had taken hours of conversation and gentle coaxing to get him to open up about it. They’d had a fight, it seemed. Keisuke had run off, and Akira had been too proud to go after him, certain that he would return on his own.

Alas, Keisuke never returned home. Nor did he show up for work the next day at the factory. Nor the next. By the time Akira had come to Motomi for help, he had been missing for three days, and no one had seen so much of a whisper of him anywhere.

Three days missing, in a town this small?

Akira never came for mass. Motomi suspected he didn’t really believe in God, but he showed up at the church every day after that with the same inquiry, and he usually stuck around after. Alas, Motomi always had the same answer, and the only thing he could do to help was listen. To tell the truth, he was growing increasingly concerned about the kid. Today would mark the seventh day that Keisuke had been missing.

And if now he had returned… that was a very, _very_ bad sign for everyone.

Damn him for his disorderliness, he _really_ needed to get this place in order. After what felt like forever opening cupboards and searching drawers for bandages, Motomi finally returned to the pew with the medical supplies.

Akira was eyeing him suspiciously… but hey, at least the kid was actually looking at him now. That was a good sign, at least. Motomi plopped down in the seat beside him, snickering with amusement when the boy inched away the moment he made contact with the seat. Prickly little thing. Well, at least he was feeling well enough to continue his absurd charade of pushing people away. It was kind of sad, though. What on earth had happened to this kid to make him so distrustful of everyone?

“Oi, sit still. If you keep squirming I’ll wind up accidentally hurting you. I need to touch you if you want me to clean up these wounds. Contrary to popular opinion, I can’t just wave my hands, say a few prayers, and make them disappear.”

“…I’m fine.”

“Oh come on now - you’re not fine at all. You’re bleeding all over my bench. Wood is porous; it’ll soak it right up. That’s not good for you _or_ the furniture.”

“…I can do it myself.”

“Don’t be such a baby about it. You’re injured. You came here because you need help. So… let me help you.”

“……!”

Akira’s fierce blue eyes widened, settling into a resigned glower as he watched the older man lift the hem of his shirt to clean him off. To tell the truth, it was kind of cute. Akira shifted, taking his shirt by the hem and raising it to give the priest access. This time he hadn’t even needed to be prompted. That was definitely improvement.

Wiping the blood away from Akira’s wounds revealed something unexpected: teeth marks. The pattern looked human. Motomi blinked in surprise.

“…He _bit_ you?”

“…Yeah.”

Well. Damn.

Chills ran down the priest’s spine as he examined the marks more closely. It was all starting to come together, and not for the better. With every piece of the puzzle that fell into place, his heart sunk another notch. So far, this incident was fitting all the wrong patterns. This was looking much worse than just a typical lover’s spat.

No one in town wanted to admit to it, and even in his own order most would deny it, but Motomi knew full well what it was going on out there. Numerous local people had gone missing in town as of late. Most were orphans, prostitutes, criminals… the sorts of unfortunate souls no one would really miss. So most of the time, no one noticed the disappearances until it was too late. Their bodies were discovered slashed to pieces in the woods, blood dripping down over a large granite slab surrounded by melted candle wax.

Devil worship.

No matter how many years that had passed, he could never forget the horrors of what he had seen… because that was how his son had died. And so, with the church’s resources at his disposal, he had tracked the the murders, one by one, noting the patterns, the strange inconsistencies in the smallest of details… And for better or worse, that chase had lead him here. It was starting to look like Keisuke had been the latest victim.

“Alright, sit forward, kid. I’m gonna need to reach behind your back to secure these bandages.”

For once, Akira obeyed without protest, scooting forward to the edge of his seat and lifting his arms as Motomi encircled his waist. He flinched a little as the bandages were secured and tightened, but quickly regained his stoic composure.

“Good boy. There we go. Are you ready to talk yet? I’m curious… How was Keisuke 'different' when you saw him just now?” Motomi tried his best to keep his tone neutral. There was no sense in scaring Akira with his suspicions. Hopefully, the kid would say something to prove him wrong.

“…He just _was_ different. I’ve known Keisuke my whole life and I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like what?”

“Something about his eyes were off. And I kept seeing this weird illusion…” Akira tried to shrug it off like it was nothing, but with his limbs still shaking, the effect was somewhat lost in translation. “I don’t know, it was probably just a shadow, or some fallen leaves or something. The light wasn’t very good.”

“What kind of illusion?”

Silence hung in the air between them like a heavy weight as the color seemed to drain from Akira’s face. Whatever he had seen had clearly terrified him. Motomi leaned forward, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Akira’s face and tucking it behind his ear.

“It’s okay, you can tell me. I’m not going to judge you.”

“…He looked like he had horns growing out of his head?” Akira looked down, drawing nervous circles on the floor with his work boot. “At least that’s what it looked like to me. That’s crazy, I know.”

“That’s not crazy. Once you see a demon, you never forget it.”

“……!”

Akira looked up in genuine surprise, as though incredulous that Motomi had actually dared to jump to such a conclusion based on such a telling description.

“Listen - I’m a priest, okay? If I didn’t believe in demons, I wouldn’t be preaching about them every Sunday.”

Motomi’s voice trailed off, meeting Akira’s disbelieving stare head-on. He knew Akira wasn’t particularly religious, and that was well and fine, but when you saw something with your own two eyes as clear as day, what was the point in denying it then?

“Here, do you smoke?”

Motomi fumbled around in his coat pocket for a moment before he found the case of cigarettes and matches he was looking for, striking a light and offering it to Akira.

“No.”

“Do you want to try?”

“…No.”

“Ah well, suit yourself.”

Uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them as Motomi took a long drag, draping his arm across the backrest and exhaling a large puff of smoke towards the ceiling.

“…Do you think Keisuke is possessed?”

At least it hadn’t taken Akira long to come around. It seemed the kid was practical enough to trust his own senses. Unfortunately, he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“Hmm… well, it’s certainly _possible_. It’s _one_ possibility, anyway.”

Alas, the other possibility was even more concerning and more horrifying to contemplate. And based on everything Akira had told him… more likely.

“…So what’s the other possibility?”

“Your friend may actually _be_ a demon.”

“…What?!”

Akira blinked in genuine confusion, failing to wrap his mind around such a seemingly bizarre statement. He clearly wasn’t buying it. Most didn’t. Not at first. Akira’s fierce blue eyes narrowed.

“Keisuke’s as human as I am. He’s not a demon. We’ve known one another since we were children. He’s always been so meek. He’s _never_ done anything like this before.”

Motomi sighed, exhaling another long breath of smoke as his eyes fixed on the crucifix. He _hated_ this conversation. Every time he was forced to repeat it to someone new whose loved one had just been lost, old wounds opened and he died a bit inside.

“I’m not sure how to explain this, so I’ll tell it to you plainly: A lot of people go missing in this town. I suspect the governor is involved somehow, but right now I don’t have any proof of that. He’s pretty secure up in that tower of his with all of his guards fussing about him. Every time I try to question him, he has some kind of alabai. So it’s just a hunch.”

“…What does that have to do with Keisuke being a demon?”

“Let me finish. Most of the people who go missing around here turn up dead. But some of them… come back.”

“…What do you mean 'come back'?”

“I mean that they’ve been turned. It happens when someone is… killed... in a particular way. I don’t know the specifics of how it’s done. I only know that there’s some sort of preparation and ritual involved. Black mass, candles, altars, chanting, that sort of thing. Once it’s done, the victim’s soul is dyed black as night and they rise as a demon. There’s no going back from that state. Since the demon’s body is technically already dead, even if their soul is somehow cleansed, there is no physical form for them to return to. They’re doomed to roam the earth forever, wrecking havoc on the living until someone finally puts them out of their misery.”

Alas putting them out of their misery also entailed sending their cursed souls to hell. At least, that was what the church taught. But no matter how many years the priest had been hunting demons, he couldn’t bring himself to say such a cruel thing to someone whose best friend had in all likelihood just been turned into one.

Akira’s eyes swamped with horror.

“You think… that’s what happened to Keisuke? That someone took him and… _sacrificed_ him in the woods?”

Motomi tapped his cigarette against the backrest, ignoring the ash that fell to the floor.

“It’s… happening more often than most church officials would care to admit. Your friend has been gone for a week now - that’s about how much time it takes for the ritual to be complete. It isn’t certain... but it fits the pattern.”

“But I just saw him… _alive_.”

The raised tone in Akira’s voice might almost be misconstrued for anger, but his eyes radiated terror and despair.

“You’re saying Keisuke is already _dead_?!”

“It’s unfortunate, but that might be precisely the case, yes. Especially if he had glowing eyes, horns, and attacked you on sight.”

Akira folded his arms around his chest, tugging at the edges of his dark pea coat. His eyes deemed distant, as if remembering something.

“He didn’t attack… on sight.”

“Oh? Did he say anything to you first?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“…Not really.”

If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Motomi might have snickered.

“Now you’re just making me curious. Did you know that all priests have to maintain a strict seal of confidentiality? If you confess something to me, I’m obligated not to repeat it to anyone.”

Akira glowered, apparently unimpressed.

“Why would anyone bother confessing in the first place? If you don’t want someone to know something, you should keep it to yourself.”

“Yeah, but if you do that, it’s gonna eat away at you. In theory, I’m supposed to help people cleanse their souls so they can go to heaven absolved of their sins. But honestly, most people just find they feel better after talking to someone. It takes some of the pressure off of their chests. If you keep it all bottled up, sooner or later it’ll become too much.”

“……”

Akira looked down, fiddling with the buttons on his coat.

“There’s still a possibility that Keisuke is just possessed… and if he is, there is a possibility that we might save him… right?”

Motomi sighed, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the bench to get rid of some of the ash. It was admirable that Akira wanted to try to save his friend, but he didn’t want to give him any false hope.

“Well… I guess _technically_ , if you perform an exorcism, but… it’s a very _small_ possibility. I’ll be honest: I’ve only witnessed two attempted exorcisms, and neither one ended well. It’s a brutal process to endure, and most of the time people aren’t strong enough to live through it. If it doesn’t kill them them outright, it might leave them with permanent injury. Besides that… if he’s been turned… it won’t do any good.”

Motomi shook his head sadly. He didn’t want to imagine these things himself, but what he did and did not want hardly mattered. Right now he needed to be here for Akira.

“Even if it’s only a slim chance… I have to take it.”

“You’re a good friend to even consider that after what he just did to you, but you might want to think twice before running off blindly to face danger head-on. There is a much greater possibility that he’ll kill you. With demons… if they don’t eat you alive, they’ll drag you off into the woods and… make you like them.”

“I don’t care.”

It was direct, blunt, and very Akira. Motomi sighed. He couldn’t just stand by and watch this foolishly brave young man throw away his entire life on an impossible mission with no hope of a positive outcome.

“I’ll tell you what… why don’t you stay here for tonight? There’s a full moon out, so I don’t recommend that you try to go home. That’s when demons are at their most powerful. If he’s turned, the apartment flat you two share on the water is probably going to be the first place Keisuke will come looking for you.”

“……”

“…I’ll go fetch you a blanket.”

Motomi stood up, stretching his back a little before he went back to his room to find it. When he got there, he had no idea where to look, so he just grabbed the quilt off his bed. He could find another later. While he was at it, he grabbed a half-empty bottle of communion wine off his nightstand as well.

“Here you go.” Motomi draped the quilt over the boy’s shivering shoulders. “If you want, I can give you my bed for the night. I have a room in the back. You’ll be more comfortable there. It’s a little less drafty.”

“Where would you sleep?”

“Oh I don’t know…” It was more of an impulse suggestion than anything else. “I mean, it’s a pretty big bed, and technically it’ll be a lot warmer with both of us in it.”

“Wouldn't that cause a scandal or something? I’m fine out here. I can sleep on the bench.”

Motomi sat back down beside Akira, and this time the boy didn’t try to scoot away. He was still shivering, even with both his coat and the quilt wrapped around him.

“Hmm. I could try making up a cot…”

“I’m fine with the bench.”

“Well, suit yourself. I just feel a little bad going back to my soft mattress and leaving you out here. Should be the other way around, you know?”

“Why? At your age, wouldn’t that hurt your back?”

“…Hey. I’m not _that_ old.”

Another silence fell over them, but this time it wasn’t awkward. In a way, it was actually kind of peaceful.

“I know it’s too awful to even consider… but no matter what happens when we find your friend, no matter how things play out, I’m going to be here to help you get through it, okay?”

Akira looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. Tears were pricking at the corners of his red eyes, though it was obvious that he was fighting them. Before he even realized what he was doing, the priest had leaned over, wrapping one arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulling the other man into his embrace.

“Here, have some communion wine. It’ll help you sleep, if nothing else. You need to conserve your energy if you’re going to have any hope of helping your friend.”

“…I don’t need it.”

“Come now, I’ve never heard of a grown man who refuses a drink. Here.”

Motomi popped the lid off the bottle and pressed it into Akira’s hands. Akira glared in annoyance, but he didn’t refuse.

“There you go. Try a swig, it’s not bad. Personally I prefer whiskey, but…”

Motomi shrugged, smiling softly as Akira brought the bottle almost grudgingly to his lips. As soon as the first drop hit his tongue he pulled back, but apparently the taste didn’t disagree with him. He settled back against the older man almost reluctantly, taking another swig. It wasn’t like church wine was the finest beverage on the market, but it was decent enough. Motomi didn’t water it down like some other priests did. Given Akira’s position as a factory worker, he probably couldn’t afford quality alcohol all that often anyway. Despite his annoyed expression, Akira seemed grateful enough.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem. Take your time with it. You can have the whole bottle if you want.”

Akira didn’t complain, taking another swig as he stared up at the crucifix above the altar.

“You asked what Keisuke said… he said all of this was my fault. And he’s right. If he’s… dead… then he died believing every horrible thing I said to him.”

“Every couple has their fights. That’s just a fact of life. The fact that yours ended like this… you couldn’t have known.”

“Couple…? We’re both men.”

“Ha… right.”

To tell the truth, he had kind of suspected that Keisuke’s obvious crush had been one-sided. But this wasn’t the time to discuss something like that. Not that it was really any of his business to begin with, though he found himself… a little uncomfortably curious about the topic.

“Well, couple of _friends_. Friends fight, too. Back when I was younger…”

“……?”

Motomi paused, fidgeting uncomfortably with his cigarette as ash tumbled precariously to the floor. Akira was looking at him with a curious expression. The priest found it difficult to imagine that the boy was actually interested in his love life, though he supposed he could dream.

“What? I’ve been in relationships, and we didn’t always agree about everything, either. _Before_ I was a priest, mind you. I’m human, so I’m not immune to falling in love. But looking back, there’s so much I wish I had done differently.”

Bitter images flooded his memory, and Motomi closed his eyes to block them out. This wasn’t the place for it.

“Sometimes, the only thing you can do is learn to live with your regrets. Everyone wishes they could go back and change certain things. But… here we are. It hurts like hell, but that’s all there is to it.”

Akira took another swig of wine, staring contemplatively into the bottle.

“…Keisuke said that it was my destiny to die with him. That I had already been marked. Maybe… he’s right. It should have been _me_ , not him.”

“Wait… what? He said you were marked?!”

A surge of paranoid adrenaline surged through the priest’s body at the words and he nearly choked on his cigarette.

“Is that bad…?” Akira's eyes widened. “Does it mean I’m going to hell or something?”

“No, no of course not… where did you get something like that from? But tell me… what do you mean by ‘marked’…?”

“Hell if I know.” Akira shrugged. “Keisuke told me that he wanted to kill me with his own hands before someone else claimed me. He said that my destiny belonged to another - so his one remaining wish was to watch the life drain from my eyes as he strangled me to death. He said I owed it to him and he had no choice. He had to consume me or else my mate would find me first and take me away from him forever.”

Pure ice ran through Motomi's veins.

No.

It _couldn’t_ be. He didn’t want to believe it.

The priest’s eyes hardened.

“Akira… tell me honestly, do you know who Keisuke was referring to? Your mate - the one destined to claim you.”

Akira huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Of course not. I’ve never even gone on a date.”

That feeling of dread knotting his stomach twisted ever tighter. Given the closeness of Akira and Keisuke’s relationship, and the fact that the two of them had been living together, he’d always just _assumed_ …

“So you’re saying that you’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question. Akira glared back, almost as though he were insulted by the insinuation.

“Of _course_ I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not married or anything.”

Oh…

 _Oh no._ Please God _no_.

Under any other circumstances, such a naive response might have made him chuckle. But this wasn’t just a casual conversation, and combined with everything else he’d said, such a revelation sent horror sweeping over him.

“…Was Keisuke also a virgin?”

Again Akira shrugged, his tone growing increasingly clipped, as though he were insulted by the subject matter.

“Hell if I know. It was none of my business. I think he was dating a girl once, but they broke up. I never really asked about it. Why the does that matter?”

“…It’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Motomi took another drag on his cigarette, giving Akira a tight squeeze as he stared fixedly at the crucifix over the wall. Every cell in his body was screaming. In the space of only a few words, what had started as a bad premonition had become infinitely worse. If what he was thinking was true, this was bad for all of them involved.

It was very, _VERY_ bad.

But he had to check, if only to convince himself that he was wrong.

Akira must have been exhausted, that or the wine had really hit him, because he was out in minutes. He looked so meek and peaceful lying against the priest’s chest with his head resting against his shoulder. It had been a long time since Motomi had had the opportunity to be this close to another person, and he couldn’t help but feel moved by it. Comforted. Under other circumstances, Motomi would have happily spent the entire night like this.

But these weren’t other circumstances.

With Akira finally asleep in his arms, Motomi had the opportunity to examine his body a little more closely, without risk of the other panicking and pushing him away. So as gently as could be, the priest gathered the boy in his arms and carried him to the altar where the light shining through the windows was brighter. Carefully, he laid him on his side and draped the old quilt over most of his body. Unhooking the boy's suspenders, he slid Akira's shirt up, pulling down his pants and underwear just far enough to see his lower back. He felt like a bit of a pervert doing it, and tried his best to suppress the unwanted surge of arousal that came over him unbidden. This was neither the time nor the place for it. Large rough hands slid down the boy’s smooth skin to reveal a hint of round shapely buttocks that nearly glowed by the pale moonlight.

Even as his blood pressure rose, Motomi’s heart stopped.

There, as clear as day by the light of the full moon on Akira’s fair skin, were the dreaded swirling jagged black markings that told him exactly what he wished he didn’t know:

Akira bore the same curse as the one he had been hunting all these years.

And that meant…

…Akira had to die.

He had to die, _now,_ or all of this, everything he had done _,_ was for nothing.

And Motomi had to be the one to do it, before any of the others noticed. Before the demons, or the cultists, or God knows who else. Before they stretched him out over their unholy altar, driving nails through his hands and feet, forcing his mouth open and his legs apart as they defiled and degraded him, over and over, until he lost consciousness and they cut out his still-beating heart as a dark offering.

He had to kill him before _someone else_ did. Keisuke, the cultists, it didn’t matter.

He had to kill him before the streets ran red with blood and another demon rose from the ashes.

Keisuke was right. It was already too late.

But…

Akira was still human. He was innocent. He didn’t know any of this. He never asked for it. Hell, he probably never even _imagined_ it. He was nothing more than a scared child who had just lost his best friend, who had come running to the nearest person he could trust for help.

And for some God forsaken reason, of _all_ the places in the world he could have gone, _all_ the people he could have chosen to trust… he had to put his faith in Motomi.

But these markings… this wasn’t something the priest could unsee.

 _Damn it._ Damn it all.

Motomi sat down hard on one of the benches in the first row, the old wood creaking under his weight.

He was weak. He _couldn’t_ do this. Could he? Could he really betray Akira? The longer he waited, the harder this was going to be to go through with. God was testing him, though it felt more like mockery. This was a trial. But… he didn’t think it was a trial he could ever hope to pass. Either decision held irrevocable consequences, and he knew it.

The loaded pistol lay in his lap untouched.

And Motomi waited.

And waited.

Tonight, the one he had been hunting for over ten years, but had never once seen, would surely show himself. The one he had sworn to kill.

One way or another, tonight it would be over.

Because now, after all these years, the one who had been destined to be that demon’s mate was sleeping atop his holy altar.

…That demon’s name was Nano.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for my baby to turn up the heat. >:)
> 
> Artwork by CourseSalt

Everything about this moment felt surreal. Dreamlike.

This was it - the moment Motomi had been preparing for for over a decade. A sense of euphoria lighted in his veins and settled in the pit of his stomach. Years of chasing this monster down - of careful orchestration, sleepless nights, endless research, secrecy, lies, and political maneuvering within his order had all brought him _here_ , to this very moment.

So many nights of planning… and most of it would go to waste. To spare Akira’s life, he was going to have to throw out his carefully laid schemes and improvise.

Terror mixed with elation, pumping his body full of adrenaline. Motomi’s mind was racing. It would be easier to face the demon in close quarters, and there was no way he was going to leave Akira unguarded in the main hall, so Motomi carefully picked him up from where he lay sprawled on the altar and brought him somewhere where he could keep him close. Behind the altar was a door leading to the priory. Motomi made up a cot for Akira in the small bedchamber, fetching a few more blankets to keep him warm. It was all a calculated risk, one that could easily go wrong. He didn’t have much time. He would have to prepare as best he could. One false move, and everything he had worked for would crumble.

Akira leaned his head sleepily against Motomi’s chest as the priest carried him back to his quarters. The fragrant scent of wine lingered on his breath. For better or worse, the kid was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, much like his son had been. His small body was warm in his arms, breath deep and rhythmic. Alive. It felt good to hold him like this, even though it broke his heart to think of how he might have been carrying his corpse the same way, and laying him to rest in a much different bed.

If things didn’t go smoothly tonight, Motomi's weakness and mercy would have dire consequences. If the prophecy was fulfilled and the demon took Akira… it would spell doom for them all.

Motomi shuffled through drawers, opening every cupboard he could find to see what he had lying around. There were a hundred different folk remedies that were supposed to ward off demons, but it was dubious whether a single one actually worked. Still, it was better than nothing. So, in an effort to provide some sort of protection, the priest placed salt and garlic around Akira’s cot, sprinkling holy water onto the doors and windows in his chambers before bolting them shut.

Then… he waited.

Over and over, the priest tried and failed to tangle himself in his white sheets and drown behind closed eyelids in the realm of his own head. Every minute hung over him like an hour, lingering, taunting. Elation quickly faded to doubt. With every stroke of its rusted gears, the ticking of the the old clock in the priory seemed to mock him. The sound of his own breath and the beating of his heart echoed like drums in the silent halls.

In spite of the hollow coolness hanging in the autumn breeze, Motomi’s black button down robe was drenched with sweat, clinging to his bare torso. The covers of his bed coiled around his ankles like snakes. Motomi unhooked the buttons, unfastening the collar at his neck. Every toss and turn grew increasingly futile as he tried desperately to snare an hour's rest, if nothing more. But the priest couldn’t sleep. Not tonight. When he closed his eyes, the gruesome images of his dead family scorched themselves onto the backs of his eyelids, and he couldn’t help but picture Akira the same way. He squeezed his eyelids shut, trying to drown it all out. After a while a strange sort of dizziness began to swamp his senses, growing heavy and threatening to drag him under. But the steady ticking of the clock only grew louder.

And then without warning, sometime between the hours of midnight and 3am…

It stopped.

Motomi’s breath caught in his throat, his limbs seizing, dread dropping into his gut like an iron weight. The four walls closed in too tight, too close around him. Even the whistling of the wind outside had ceased. A suffocating silence rolled from the walls, filling the room like smoke and cyanide that smothered his thoughts and poisoned every breath that passed from his lips. Despite the windows being sealed, a cool breeze wafted across his skin. It was cold, so _cold…_

The steady drum of his pulse in his ears was deafening, in all the silent and oppressive mood that lingered in the midnight air. The skin on the back of the priest’s neck began to crawl, as though a nest of spiders had suddenly burst open overhead. Fear clenched at his gut, his eyes squeezing tight.

He had given up everything for this moment. Sacrificed his entire life for it. But no matter how much he thought he had prepared, finally being confronted with the reality of this demonic presence was no less terrifying.

After a few moments of unnatural silence, doubt trickled in. Was he imagining this? Jumping at shadows? Perhaps it was nothing, he told himself, shivering as a sharp chill settled over the eerie stillness that lingered in air. The clock simply needed to be rewound, and weather changed all the time. After all, a moment ago he had prayed for silence. Could his soul never be satisfied?

The door to this sanctuary was locked, the windows barred. Akira slept like a rock, barely moving, but all of his his senses told him that there was someone else in the room with them.

No.

Not some _one_.

Some _thing_.

The priest’s limbs remained paralyzed. He could not yet bring himself to roll over, nor open his eyes to face the horror that his heart warned him was waiting. It was all he could do to part his dry lips to finally speak.

“Who’s there?”

No answer. His gruff words disappeared into the darkness like smoke on the wind. The air was so thick he could cut it with a knife. A spell had settled over the room. He was being watched, he thought.

That, or he was going mad.

…Probably the latter. He should strike a match, light another candle, see for himself that nothing was there. At his age, reacting this way was absurd. He was a priest of God. He should have more faith than this. He should not be jumping at shadows in the dark.

A sound echoed in the darkness, so faint that he might have missed it over the pounding of his own heart.

Footsteps.

Soft, delicate, with an unsteady, wavering gait.

Motomi’s instincts took over. He rolled over, reaching desperately for the pistol he had stashed in the top drawer beside his bed. But he couldn’t get the damn thing open. Shaking hands fumbled amidst the stacks of books and papers atop his nightstand for the key he knew was buried there.

 _Goddamn it_ , why…  _why_ in heaven’s name had he locked the damn drawer after he put the gun away? He didn’t remember doing such a thing. It was so foolish that he could barely wrap his mind around it. His eyes were searching the darkness, wary, seeking out the intruder whose presence he could feel with every fiber of his being.

But he saw nothing.

Nothing at all.

…Was it just a cat? Perhaps the black kitten he had seen earlier blended so well into the shadows that he hadn’t noticed it when he locked the door…

Not willing to take any chances, Motomi continued his search, precious seconds wasted. Finally, he pried open the lock and reached inside for the familiar weapon he always kept here. Relief flooded his senses.

But only for an instant.

The eerie footsteps, which had until now been silent, suddenly advanced, almost as though the one to whom they belonged had actually been _waiting_ for him.

Chills ran down his spine. Waiting… for what? For the priest to grab his revolver and point it at his head? Why on earth would anyone do such a thing? No _person_ was that foolish, surely. Maybe it really _was_ a cat. Or perhaps…

Motomi’s mind was racing nearly as fast as his heart, his eyes searching the shadows for signs of movement. He pressed his back against the wooden headboard of his bed and aimed the revolver in the direction from which the footsteps appeared to be coming.

But when he saw the source, he nearly dropped the pistol from his hands.

There, standing in the center of the room, was the pale outline of a man. He was drawing steadily nearer, almost like a puppet being pulled by a string. His empty gaze was unfocused, his footsteps so smooth and light that he appeared almost to be floating. The priest couldn’t make out his features from this distance, but his form was clearly human.

…Or something very nearly _approximating_ human.

He cocked the hammer, but the figure made no move to either attack or defend. He stood so motionless he might as well have been made of wax.

What the hell was this thing doing? Another wave of uncertainty lodged itself in his gut.

Something was clearly off about this man… but oddly enough, Motomi couldn’t sense any overt hostility emanating from him. He had been expecting demonic fury, violence, possibly even possession or madness. He simply felt nothing at all.

On the contrary, this figure before him appeared as defenseless as a child. His posture was perfectly calm and relaxed, without a trace of tension or fear. His dark eyes traced him with innocent curiosity, like a wild animal who had never seen a gun before and thus did not know to be afraid of it.

Motomi’s hand wavered.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?!”

The silence between them went untouched as the man lingered wordlessly in the shadows. He was standing perfectly still. _Unnaturally_ still. There was something about his serene gaze that seemed lifeless, uncanny, more like a doll than a living being.

“Answer!”

By way of a response, the figure took another listless step forward into a patch of spilled moonlight, steadily closing the remaining distance between them.

The priest’s jaw dropped. He had been right - this _thing_ was not human at all. The little pointed antler-like horns protruding from the spill of dark golden curls that framed this thing's sharp face left little doubt that Motomi was dealing with the damned soul of a demon.

…So this was what his dreaded nemesis looked like.

Leaves from the forest outside lingered in the demon's hair and on his clothes, catching in the web of chains that adorned his body. His exposed skin was heavily scarred, and so thin and pale that one could see the blue veins running underneath. He wasn’t wearing much, and what he was wearing appeared thin, gauzy, and a bit disheveled.

Overall it made him look like some sort of pagan nature spirit, though Motomi wasn’t entirely certain how intentional the effect was. He looked more as if he had simply fallen asleep in the forest, centuries ago perhaps, and had long since forgotten what he was wearing.

The monster’s deep blue eyes were unreadable. Yet every so often the priest thought he caught a hint of an iridescent purple sheen… which left little doubt that the one he had been seeking all these many long years was finally standing before him.

Standing _directly_ in his line of fire, momentarily distracted as he gazed down at Akira’s prone form sleeping peacefully in the corner. It was all too perfect.

The empty-eyed abomination looked back at him with a deeply unsettling mixture of serenity and innocent curiosity, as though he genuinely had no idea of the harm the priest intended to do him.

God help him. He couldn’t afford to continue this self-indulgent hesitation. This was _it_. _This_ was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he had offered up his entire life to make happen. How many lives would be saved, how many families spared the heartache he himself had suffered once this evil was purged from the earth? Perhaps, with the demon dead… Akira’s curse might even be shattered.

He _had_ to act. Another wave of elation crested through him as his resolve strengthened.  _This was it_ , finally, _this was the end…_  It was now or never. The priest focused his aim, steadied his hand…

And pulled the trigger.

It was all over now.

Except…

…It wasn’t.

The old wooden planks in the chamber walls shattered with an unearthly crash. Before the priest could react to his mistake, all of the breath in his body was knocked from his lungs. Fluid as could be, ethereal and phantom-like as a spirit, the demon twisted his wrist until the prized weapon clattered gracelessly to the floor. In one brutish slam, the weight of his entire body was thrown down flat against his mattress.

Time stopped.

Motionless, the demon now hovered above his painfully subdued form, effortlessly pinning him to the sheets. Just for an instant, his eyes radiated with that brilliant violet hue that had haunted the priest’s darkest nightmares for ages.

He’d lost.

He had gambled _everything_ , and in one foul bet, he had lost it all.

“Murder is a deadly sin… one for which there is no forgiveness.”

Motomi could barely hear the whisper of the demon's deep voice over the sound of his own heart pounding like a wardrum in his ears.

The pale man smiled - a thin, bloodless smile devoid of all warmth or human emotion.

“Can you live with sin staining your heart? Can you persist knowing that nothing but damnation awaits? …Just as I have.”

The words tore through his chest, echoing in the small chamber. Anger rose. So that was it. The demon was testing him. Toying with him. Mocking him.

Motomi glared back in genuine distaste.

“Don’t you _dare_ insinuate that I’m anything like you. Murder is only a sin when the victim in question is human. Slaying a demon merely sends them back to hell where they belong.”

The priest had expected argument. Rage. Resentment. Perhaps even his own death as the demon claimed his ill-gotten victory.

But if Nano had any opinions one way or the other regarding the priest’s statement, it didn’t show on his face. His lips remained tightly sealed, his violet eyes empty as they searched Motomi’s from his straddled position atop the priest’s hips. What he saw there, the priest would never know.

Still, as long as he remained alive, a thin shred of hope remained. He couldn’t just give up. Motomi struggled, futile though it might be, trying to wrench his wrists free of the demon’s tight grasp. To his surprise, Nano released his hands of his own volition.

Only to close them around his throat.

Motomi’s vision wavered as primal terror swept through his entire being, crashing over him like a tidal wave to drown all of the thoughts swimming frantically in his head. The only sound that escaped his lips was a harsh wheeze, grating against the tension of those wiry fingers encircling his neck.

Nano remained expressionless as ever as he squeezed, hard, apathetic to the frantic fight for air going on beneath him as the priest struggled and kicked, jarring his hips and writhing against the tension. Those glowing eyes bored into the fiber of his being as though they could see through to his very soul, a twin abyss that tore back his skin and flayed him to the bone until nothing was left unseen. Memories from the darkest depths of his heart rose unbidden as those impenetrable pools of nothingness sucked him under and slit open his soul seam from seam.

The priest lurched, clawing desperately like an animal at the pale, slender hands that so effortlessly choked the life from his body. Images flashed before his eyes, each more horrible than the last: his son’s lifeless body, mangled beyond recognition. The heartwrenching cries of the boy's mother when he told her she would never see him again. The pooled blood running from the bathtub when Motomi had finally gone home to comfort her only to find that she had slit her wrists waiting.

All of his prayers up until now had gone unheard, unanswered. Deep in his heart he knew the truth - God was dead, and he, his so-called pious servant, was nothing more than a desperate vengeful fool on a personal quest to absolve himself of his own sin.

And the demon simply watched impassively, curling his frozen fingers and digging his claws into the priest’s flesh, as seemingly indifferent to his anguish as the changing tide as it rose to drown its victims in its embrace.

Darkness pricked at the corners of Motomi’s vision as his eyes watered. His back arched desperately against the old mattress, his movements frantic, uncoordinated, and completely desperate. With every second he was growing weaker, his aching muscles quickly giving out as they were deprived of oxygen.

Dying strangled in his own bed in the house of God, beneath the bloody crucifix that had never done a damn thing to protect him, cradled in the arms of sin… it was hard to imagine a less idyllic death. His singular mission had failed. Here he was lying helpless mere meters from yet another victim he had failed to save as his consciousness dissolved into nothingness… And the very last thing he would ever see were the empty eyes of this demon looming over him, mocking him for his failure.

Nano’s grasp rescinded.

The priest inhaled sharply, gasping. His mind was reeling, his entire body shaking as he closed his eyes in utter defeat and terror that he didn’t want to admit was real.

Nano grazed his thumb carelessly across the priest's lip in a gesture which was surprisingly gentle after the violence before, though it did nothing to still the terror pistoning through his veins. The demon’s sharp claws grazed his tender flesh, sending shivers down his spine, a subtle reminder of the precarious position he was in.

“You do not know your true colors.”

Before his brain could even think of a response to such nonsense, the demon reached up to gently cup the priest’s face, stroking the rough stubble grazing his cheek almost lovingly. His touch was cold, but not altogether unpleasant, though he had to admit he was losing his grip on reality. His chest heaved, back slumped against the mattress as his mind continued to reel.

“You hide behind a curtain of white, oblivious to the stains beneath.”

Claws trailed against Motomi’s neck, tracing his collarbone, finding their way to his bare chest, scraping gently at the tanned tender flesh beneath.

“In the end, it does not matter. Nothing remains truly white.”

Nano shifted his hips, tracing those jagged claws along the outlines of his pectorals. The idle movement made him suddenly conscious of just how close their bodies were, and how little clothing was between them. Slender and graceful, all of the angles and curves of the demon’s body were shamelessly on display. The proximity was unsettling, made all the more so by Nano’s cold fingers flicking across the priest’s hardened nipples.

Motomi’s eyes widened in shock as the demon leaned down to place a tender kiss on his lips.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Don’t touch me!”

Voice shaking, Motomi tried and failed to push Nano off from his straddled position. Anger boiled in his veins, though his abused muscles were still so sore that he couldn’t seem to put any strength behind his resistance.

The man’s long eyelashes lowered as he pulled away. He blinked slowly, licking his lips as though to taste the strength of the priest’s convictions. The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, in the vague imitation of a smile.

“It must be difficult…”

……? What the hell was that devil spouting on about now? Motomi didn’t have the patience to listen. But for some bloody reason, he couldn’t take his eyes from the man as the dull monotone of his colorless voice continued. A hiss caught in his throat as his nipples were pinched, hard.

“…Forgoing all happiness and earthly pleasures for the sake of so many nameless, faceless others.”

Heat rushed through his captive body unbidden. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. The demon was eyeing him like a hungry predator sizing up his prey. Worse, his body was beginning to respond to the attention.

“Humans are inherently selfish creatures, never satisfied, forever craving more. To sate their greed, they will claw you to pieces. Those you sacrifice for will never understand all that you have given up for the sake of their happiness.”

Motomi closed his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, only to have the meaning of the demon’s words sink deeper into his head, almost as if they were being put there by force. The horrible thing about them is that they were almost certainly true. Hell if he hadn’t thought the same thing himself from time to time.

Motomi knew better than anyone _never_ to listen to the sweet saccharine words dripping from a demon’s lips. Yet, as he lay beneath this thing, he couldn’t help but feel enraptured by the serene sound of his voice.

Some part of him… liked the attention.

…This wasn’t happening.

“When your so-called ‘faithful’ go home from mass to wrap their arms around the ones they cherish, can they truly understand what it means to be alone? To give up the chance to ever love or be loved again. Never to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh…”

Could this this thing read his mind…? When he looked up into those deep amethyst pools, he was shocked to find some part of himself reflected there. Those honeyed words combined with the rhythmic sound of the demon’s voice whispering directly into his ear penetrated his soul to send tendrils of unwanted pleasure winding down his spine.

“Human nature is always the same. In the end, none of this will matter. The men and women you sacrifice yourself for will forget your name, indulge in the same selfish sins, start the same bloody wars, and the cycle will begin all over again.”

The demon’s claws pressed into his flesh, stopping just short of drawing blood. They raked through the thick hair covering his chest, watching the rough way his muscles contracted beneath those carelessly toying fingertips.

“One person cannot make any difference. My death will mean nothing. Nor will yours. And in the end, all of your suffering… will not change anything.”

Nano’s hands coiled through the priest’s dark hair, yanking, forcing his head back at just such an angle to expose the newly formed bruises along his throat. A sickening sense of vulnerability flooded his senses as the demon’s wet tongue traced along the scruffy slope of Motomi’s jaw, running diligently from his collarbone up to his ear, then down again. Nano’s teeth soon joined in the onslaught, fangs grazing pounding arteries as he began painstakingly placing open-mouthed kisses on the welling marks of the priest’s neck.

Before Motomi could recover from the shock of it, Nano reached down between his legs, making his intentions alarmingly clear. Terror pistoned through his veins and Motomi’s mind went blank at the unmistakable feeling of the other man grinding his arousal into his hips. The buttons on his black trousers sliced easily in those sharp claws.

_No._

Oh God, _no_.

…But underneath the searing hatred, fear, and disgust he bore for this demon, he couldn’t help but find that some small sliver of his being desperately _wanted_ this.

_Fuck._

“Men are weak in the face of temptation. They fool themselves with clever words and talk of honor, virtue, morality: all the things that they believe make them better than their beastly brethren who share this earthly paradise.”

Motomi writhed, overstimulated. Eyes, wild and predatory, flashed through long eyelashes as Nano bit and sucked along Motomi’s neck and chest with ever increasing ferocity, slipping his hand into the hem of the priest’s pants.

And for some godforsaken reason, the only thing he could think was that Akira was right _there_ , asleep mere meters from his bed, and what if he _woke up_ , what if he _saw_ him like this…

“If one’s body longs for food, that hunger will persist until it is sated. Lust is no different. And humans… are no different than animals.”

…God help him, but the pretty little half-naked thing who had him pinned down to his bed was already hard as a rock, and doing absolutely _nothing_ to hide it.

This was all wrong on so many levels. But damn him to hell, when Motomi felt the demon’s wet tongue sloping up his sore neck, and those skilled fingers wrapping around his thick erection, he hardly cared. Between the sheer forbiddenness of such an act, and the fact that he honestly didn’t believe he had either the physical strength or the willpower to stop Nano from doing exactly as he pleased, his cock was already throbbing in the demon's grasp.

It hardly mattered what happened now - he was already beyond humiliated. How was this happening? He shouldn't be lying here, being touched like this, by this fucking _demon_ , and actually _enjoying_ it.

The corners of Nano’s lips curved in a wry smirk. Pale moonlight streamed down behind him to render what little he was wearing completely transparent. Chains draped over his hips and shoulders, doing more to accentuate the sharp angles and sensual curves of his lithe body than to hide them. Clawed fingers slid along his shaft, groping, squeezing, stroking, toying mercilessly with him in the palm of his hand. Somehow, the cloying coolness had the effect of making him feel exponentially hotter than before.

This wasn’t fair. He hadn’t gotten laid in so long that Motomi could hardly remember how it went. To be completely honest, what with the vow of chastity he’d been forced to take to enter the order, not to mention the scandal and disgrace that accompanied breaking such a vow, he didn’t think he ever would again.

He thought he had been okay with that.

But judging by the way his body was responding, it seemed that was just another lie he told himself. Nano was right - he didn’t know his own colors at all.

The priest did know _one_ thing, however: when all of this was said and done, he was going to regret this like nothing he had ever regretted before.

“At their core, humans fear their own nature. To hide it from themselves, they cover their bodies with spun cloth, their lips with lies, and their hearts with false piousness.”

Nano’s clawed fingers gripped the hem of Motomi’s pants, dragging them down in one smooth motion and dropping them carelessly over the side of the bed.

At this point the priest couldn't even strike a spark of any sort of denial or will to oppose him. Instead, he found himself arching further into the touch, shamefully bucking his dripping erection into those diligent fingers and thrusting his hips in tight circles into the other man’s palm. A clawed thumb grazed around and across his slit to drag the beads of fluid that formed there down his length, very much forcibly wrenching a burning groan out of the man beneath.

This entire spectacle was degrading in every sense of the word. He couldn’t even imagine what the demon hoped to accomplish by doing this to him.

As if to add insult to injury, Nano suddenly grabbed a fistful of Motomi’s hair, twisting his head to the side until he was looking directly at Akira’s sleeping form.

“Humans delude themselves into thinking that others cannot see them for who they truly are. Each one thinks that they alone are unique. Such foolishness… makes them so very easy to manipulate.”

Nano’s voice was a deep, breathy whisper as he licked up along the curve of the priest’s ear, simultaneously seductive and infuriating. Seized with raw emotion, a surge of sudden strength washed over his prone body. He’d had _enough_. In an attempt to throw him off, he reached up to grab his tormentor’s waist.

“I’m _done_ listening to you, demon.”

But the way to hell was paved with good intentions.

As soon as he felt that smooth skin under his fingertips, those lithe hips twisting almost precariously into his embrace, Motomi found himself instead tearing at the fabric at Nano’s waist. The thin cloth shredded easily in his large hands. At that point, he honestly didn’t know if he was seeking vengeance by trying to punish Nano for doing the same to him, or if he was just desperate to feel more of his naked flesh.

Alas, the only thing he really succeeded in was proving the demon right.

And now that he’d started, he didn’t want to stop. Angry fingers twisted through Nano’s curls, violently clenching and pulling him closer until he could drive his tongue through those thin lips to silence them. Their tongues clashed violently.

There was something strangely nostalgic about the other man’s taste. It was clean, earthy… and incredibly sexual. Nano sighed into his lips, his gracile body writhing greedily against Motomi’s, every movement dripping with desire. Clear fluid wept shamelessly onto the priest’s stomach. Nano wetted his fingers with it, smearing it onto the head of Motomi’s dick to mix their fluids as if anointing him. With every passing moment, the priest was coming undone. The demon had broken down his walls and penetrated deep into the very core of his being. Now that the walls so carefully built had been shattered, he was helpless to stop the flood.

Nano leaned forward against him without breaking their kiss, arching his hips as he took hold of Motomi’s shaft and began rubbing it lustfully between his own buttocks. Motomi grabbed his ass, roughly pulling his pliant cheeks apart to press the tip of his cock insistently against the tight ring of muscle between them.

The demon was showing him something he would almost certainly never have again, and offering it to him on a silver platter.

…And damn if that wasn’t hot as hell.

“…Show me the side of you that no one else sees…”

Nano’s whispered voice was nearly a purr, breath hot against Motomi's lips as he pressed back with equal intensity until finally the the head of Motomi’s cock broke through his body’s resistance with a pop. That little ring of muscle clenched wantonly against the invasion, drawing the other in deeper.

Motomi had had enough of his teasing. It was clear that, demon or not, without any preparation the priest was going to be too big for Nano’s delicate body to take. But at this point splitting this little harlot in half was the least of his concerns. Without a single shred of consideration, Motomi grabbed his hips, thrusting unceremoniously into his tight body in a single merciless stroke.

The stretch alone had to have been excruciating, but Nano bore it straight-faced as ever, his amethyst eyes reflecting nothing but unadulterated lust. He gave in to Motomi’s rough handling without a fight, drawing him into his innermost place. Grabbing his hips, Motomi dug his fingers into those soft round buttocks, impaling him onto his thick cock with an almost desperate animalistic fervor.

Nano threw his head back in pure bliss, arching his back gracefully in the moonlight as he rode him. His unfocused gaze was fixed in the empty space somewhere above his partner, a mysterious smile playing about his lips as though he knew something the other did not.

With this act, the demon was defiling him, desecrating the sanctity of all the other held dear. The priest was going straight to hell for this, and he knew it. But if he was fated to burn, then _goddamn_ it, he was taking this thing down into the flames with him. His reason and rationality were crumbling to ash, sliding further and further into the mists of his subconscious with each thrust, each stroke, each fevered breath. In their place rose lust, hunger, possession, need…  
  
_Aggression…_

He grabbed Nano’s frail shoulders, _hard_ , flipping their positions by throwing him back onto the sheets so violently that the bed shook. And with that final act, the last vestiges of his control vanished like smoke on the wind.

Motomi pushed Nano’s legs back into his chest until he was completely exposed, driving into him mercilessly. If only he could make Nano feel as vulnerable and humiliated as he did, maybe then he could salvage some shred of dignity in this position. Nano’s knowing smirk was becoming increasingly infuriating as their bodies were growing impossibly intertwined. Who was violating who was becoming progressively difficult to judge as Nano raked his claws down Motomi’s back, leaving angry red lines trailing down his spine as he lifted his hips enticingly and invited the other to take him.

Laughter bubbled softly from Nano’s pale lips, almost lost in the sounds of their disheveled breathing. Terrified, Motomi grabbed his pale throat with both hands, intent on strangling him.

And Nano… smiled so sweetly up at him that it sent chills down his spine. For an instant, he thought he saw something else reflected in the hollow emptiness of the demon’s eyes, something dark and terrifying but entirely too real. He found himself hypnotized - somehow he couldn’t look away. His grip tightened almost involuntarily, and with every strained gasp, Nano’s ass clenched down tighter, squeezing down on the cock thrusting mercilessly inside of him.

It was all too much to take. Damn it all. He didn’t even know what was happening anymore. None of it seemed real.

Nano’s back arched against the sheets as his cock spasmed white lust onto his own stomach. As he watched, the sudden rush of heat enclosing him combined with the rhythmic sensation of Nano’s ass spasming around him quickly became too much to take. He came. _Hard_.  
  
With a short, breathless moan, Motomi dug his fingers into Nano's suddenly rigid hips as he released himself into the other man's cloying heat.

Wordless gasps and pants filled the growing silence between them. At some point he must have released his grip on the other’s throat. But as his heartbeat began to steady, the full horror of the situation sank in.

What the hell had he just _done_ …?

Nano pushed him off wordlessly, leaving the priest to wallow in his own misery. Save for his decorative adornments, he was now completely naked. Blood and semen trickled down his inner thighs as Nano rose unsteadily from the bed the two of them had just shared. Purple bruises were beginning to show on his pale skin.

Yet his expression remained perfectly calm. Nothing about him reflected so much as a hint of embarrassment whatsoever for his state.

Before Motomi could even comprehend just how badly he had fucked up, the situation went from bad to worse and he was suddenly reminded with alarming precision just what sort of a creature he was dealing with.

As he held them up to the moonlight, the demon’s fingers glistened with the same pinkish mixture of blood and semen that ran down his thighs.

Nano knelt almost reverently beside Akira’s cot. He took his hand, and for a moment, he almost seemed to be praying. Motomi’s chest clenched with horror as he watched Nano brush aside Akira’s bangs, anointing his forehead with the unholy fluids that dripped from his fingertips in the shape of a crucifix. The mark seemed to spark and fizzle with a strange sort of electricity, quickly dissolving into his skin. He placed a single kiss on the boy's lips.

Nano stood, glancing back at Motomi with an ominous smirk. The haunting sound of the demon’s laughter echoed in his mind as Nano disappeared into the shadows of the room as silently as he had arrived.

All of a sudden, the old clock started ticking.

Akira stirred sharply in his sleep, inhaling deeply, almost as though he had been holding his breath this entire time.

Motomi covered his face with his hands, panting, exhausted, and increasingly horrified now that the deed was done. The room was still spinning, but his senses were returning to him… most of all his sense of shame and self-loathing. He pressed his face into the stained sheets, humiliated.

What the hell had he done? He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Nano had just done to either him or Akira, nor what consequences it would have in the future. But he knew one thing for certain:

He was going to kill Nano for this.

 _Damn him_. Damn him to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano, baby, you're such a homewrecker. >:)
> 
> I usually write Motomi/Nano in a more consensual canon-ish relationship, so the whole time I was writing this I kept picturing the two of them acting out this entire scene as some kind of kinky role play. (And Akira is just on the couch like "Keep it down you guys, I'm trying to sleep.") Those two are into their roles, aren't they? >:)
> 
> If there is any interest in this story, I'd love to continue it!


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